When I first met Fergus Connolly, he was a gifted but frustrated woodwork and construction teacher who had chosen the wrong path and aspired to a career he would never attain. His passion was sport. He yearned for a life working with coaches and teams and was fascinated by what made them tick.

His thirst for knowledge was extraordinary. He had read every sports book that had ever been written and was working through a list of brilliant minds to pick. He had met Charlie Francis, the former coach of Ben Johnson, in Toronto. He had travelled to New Zealand to see Ashley Jones and watch how the All Blacks trained. He had spent a fortune in Porto on an interpreter for Vitor Frade, before anyone had ever heard of him.